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The Review and Herald, Vol. 55, No. 25

INCIDENTS BY THE WAY

The Review and Herald

June 17, 1880

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · June 17, 1880

INCIDENTS BY THE WAY.

By Ellen G. White

BY MRS. E. G. WHITE.
While on our way from Michigan to California a few months since, we had occasion to stop over one night in Council Bluffs. Thinking to improve this opportunity to visit a friend residing in the place, we took the street-car for her house, only to find that she was out of town and probably would not return for several days. Retracing our steps, we took lodging in the nearest hotel, and in the morning, after breakfasting from our well-filled lunch-basket provided by our friends at the Battle Creek Sanitarium, we took the transfer car across the Mississippi to Omaha. Here we were obliged to wait several hours in the depot, where we had a favorable opportunity to study human nature.
Among the many who were continually thronging this way and that, there was one lady who particularly attracted our attention. She was apparently about forty years of age, and was surrounded by a flock of children all the way from four to twenty-four years old. One of the boys, of about ten summers, caused her a great amount of trouble. Curiosity and willfulness seemed to be more fully developed in him than in the rest of the little ones, who sat demurely perched upon the seats, with their arms folded and their feet dangling, while he, keeping close watch of his mother's eyes, would, when they were turned, improve every opportunity to dodge out of the door and watch the engines as they were moving back and forth. His mother, fearing he might get hurt, and becoming vexed at his repeated disobedience, at last went out after him, and soon returned dragging him in with her. She scolded, and he resisted at every step. They finally reached the seat, into which she pushed him with such violence as to bring his head with considerable force against the seat, really hurting the lad.
Then came screech after screech, equaled only by the loud blasts of the engines without. The mother threatened, but to no purpose. He was desperate. When he became too tired to scream longer, he lowered his voice to a monotonous, long-drawn-out wail, which continued for something like half an hour. The mother looked troubled; but who was most at fault? The boy was stubborn; she was passionate.
We afterward had some conversation with the mother. She stated that the boy refused to come in when called, and threw himself at full length upon the platform to provoke her. Then she brought him in by main force, and, said she, “Oh, if I only had him alone in some place, I would pay him well for this behavior!” “But,” said I, “that would not change his inward feelings. Violence would only raise his combativeness, and make him still worse. The more calm a mother can keep at such times, however provoking the conduct of her children, the better will she maintain her influence and dignity as a mother, and the easier will they be controlled.” She admitted that it might be so.
I then inquired how many children she had. She replied, “Eleven,” and, pointing to two bright-looking little girls, said, “These are my youngest; one is four, the other six. My eldest are grown-up boys. We are now on our way from Iowa City to Nebraska, where there is plenty of land, and work for the children.” Not a bad idea, certainly, to give those sharp, active boys employment. There is nothing so good to keep boys from being ruined by the temptations and allurements of evil as plenty of work.
In this little incident we have a good illustration of the kind of management quite commonly adopted by mothers, although so public a demonstration of it is seldom seen. Had this mother oiled the machinery with patience and self-command, as every mother should, she would not have aroused the combative spirit of her children. But all she seemed to know of government was to threaten and intimidate, to reprove and scold. Her younger children seemed afraid to stir, others looked hard and defiant, while the older ones appeared ashamed and distressed at the exhibition they were making.
The mother had not learned the all-important lesson of self-control. “He that is slow to anger,” says the Wise Man, “is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city.” The man or woman who preserves the balance of the mind when tempted to indulge passion, stands higher in the sight of God and heavenly angels than the most renowned general that ever led an army to battle and to victory. Said a celebrated emperor when on his dying bed, “Among all my conquests, there is but one which affords me any consolation now, and that is the conquest I have gained over my own turbulent temper.” Alexander and Cæsar found it easier to subdue a world than to subdue themselves. After conquering nation after nation they fell—one of them “the victim of intemperance, the other of mad ambition.”
Had this mother realized her responsibility, she never would have pursued the course she did. Her burdens were necessarily heavy, but how much heavier was she making them by her lack of self-control. Every harsh word, every passionate blow, would sometime be reflected upon herself. If she had been ever kind, patient, and calm in her discipline, it would have been seen in the deportment of her children. How much she needed the Christian graces and the help of Jesus to mold their minds and fashion their characters. Such mothers will gain no souls to the fold of Christ. They train, they rule, they ruin, but do not bless and save.
Having purchased our sleeping-car tickets for Ogden, we soon found ourselves and numerous baskets and satchels well disposed of in an elegant palace sleeping-car. There were only seventeen passengers in our car,—no babies, no invalids, no one to cry, “Please close the ventilators.” “Will you be so kind as to shut down that window?” We were at perfect liberty to open and close windows as best suited our convenience.
While crossing the plains there was nothing in the scenery to especially engage our attention but the prairie fires. These looked grand and awful in the distance. As the train moved slowly onward, we could see the lurid flames stretching like walls of fire for miles across the prairies; and, as the wind would rise, the flames would leap higher and higher, brightening the darkness of night with their awful light. Farther on we could see where deep furrows had been broken with the plow around haystacks and settlers’ homes to protect them; and we could see also dark objects in the distance. They were persons guarding their homes.
Thursday noon we reached Cheyenne, having been three days on our journey. After leaving this place we had an interesting view of the Rocky Mountains. But suddenly dark clouds obstruct our view, and as we near Laramie, a hail-storm dashes down upon us. Occasionally the sunshine would break through the clouds, striking full upon the snow-clad mountain-tops, and causing them to sparkle like diamond beds. An additional engine is hitched on to help draw the train up to Sherman, the highest point on the route. The distance between Cheyenne and Sherman is about thirty-three miles, and the difference in altitude is more than two thousand feet. The train moves slowly and smoothly along, giving the passengers a good opportunity to view the scenery.
At length the summit is reached, and the descent begins. Two miles west of Sherman we pass Dale Creek Bridge, one of the most interesting places on the route. It looks frail, and incapable of sustaining the weight of so ponderous a train; but it is built of iron, and is really very substantial. It is six hundred and fifty feet long, and one hundred and thirty feet high. A beautiful, silvery stream winds its way in the depths below, and as we look down upon the dwellings they seem in the distance like mere pigeon houses.
At Ogden we receive additional passengers. A tall, dignified gentleman enters, accompanied by his wife and little daughter. We learned that he was an active temperance worker, and had for some time been delivering lectures on that subject in the great Mormon Temple at Salt Lake City. Noticing that our party were all busily engaged in writing most of the time, and having some curiosity to know who we were and what we were doing, he made himself known to us toward evening. He stated that he had traveled extensively in the East, and had established several institutions in which to treat inebriates, and that he was now visiting California to establish a similar institution, having already obtained pledges for that purpose to the amount of several thousand dollars.
This celebrated temperance lecturer, we are sorry to say, was an inveterate tobacco-user. Oh, what ideas of temperance! Would that he might see the utter inconsistency of his position in trying to reform inebriates while himself indulging in a habit which every year leads hundreds to a drunkard’s grave! Could he but reform in this respect, we are sure that his influence for good in the world would be increased a hundred-fold.
Near us sits the far-famed Stokes, a pleasant-appearing, middle-aged man, but whose hair is as white as a person’s usually is at a much more advanced age. Having retreated to the mountains, he is now actively engaged in mining operations, and was on his way to Sacramento on business.
Moving slowly over the great American Desert, with not an object in view but the sage brush and distant mountain-tops, we seem much like a ship at sea. Finally our faithful iron horse, steaming along so grandly, and seeming like a thing of life, begins to ascend the Sierra Nevadas. The scenery is beautiful. Passing Truckee in our descent on the opposite side, we enter snow-sheds. From light to darkness and from darkness to light is the only change for miles. Most of our last night on the train was spent in viewing the scenery. A winter view of the Sierra Nevadas is indeed grand. Pen cannot describe it, as the soft light of the moon sifted down through the grand, frosted evergreens, revealing the deep canyons below and the lofty mountain peaks above. We chose to enjoy this rather than to spend the time in sleeping.
We arrived at Oakland several hours before we had expected, and rejoiced that we had completed our journey without accident, and with hardly a feeling of weariness. People making this trip across the plains usually patronize the eating-houses along the line, and partake of three hearty meals per day, besides an almost endless variety of nuts and candies, cigars and liquors, between times. But we preferred to limit ourselves to only one meal per day, that we might have a better opportunity to rest, and thus be prepared to enter upon arduous labor as soon as we reached our destination. For seventeen years we have eaten only two meals a day while engaged in almost incessant labor.
At that time the light of health reform dawned upon us, and since that time the questions have come home every day, “Am I practicing true temperance in all things?” “Is my diet such as will bring me in a position where I can accomplish the greatest amount of good?” If we cannot answer these questions in the affirmative, we stand condemned before God, for he will hold us all responsible for the light which has shone upon our path. The time of ignorance God winked at, but as fast as light shines upon us he requires us to change our health-destroying habits, and place ourselves in a right relation to physical law.
We have crossed the plains fifteen times, and we would recommend to those contemplating such a journey strict temperance in all things. Take your lunch-baskets with you, well filled with fruits and plainly cooked bread. Eat at regular hours, and nothing between meals; and whenever the train stops for any length of time improve the opportunity by taking a brisk walk in the open air. By so doing, the journey will not only be more enjoyable, but far more beneficial healthwise.

WORDLESS SONGS.

By Eliza H. Morton

BY ELIZA H. MORTON.
Within my soul a spirit dwells, And struggles to be free; It moves my spirit ’gainst my will, And giveth songs to me. Yet words are weak, and ne’er express The feelings of the heart; The dreams and visions of the soul Can but be told in part.
When clothed in words, the tender thought Seems reft of half its power, E’en like the painted outline dim Of Nature’s fairest flower; The ideal bright flits on and on, And taunts the wearied brain With songs too deep for tongue or pen, While echo is but pain.
My lips no utterance can give, No friend can ever know The thrilling strains that through my mind Forever come and go, While oft the voiceless melody, Like music of sweet bells, Through inmost chambers of my soul In rhythmic fullness swells.
And will this struggle be for aye, My lips be ever dumb? Oh, will the unattained flit on, The substance never come? O vague Unknown! I long to grasp Thy “fleeting forms of bliss;” The shadows of this mortal life Are far from happiness.
Oh, thought of joy! the time will come When we shall know the real, And sing the songs, illusive here, And grasp the bright ideal; Our thoughts in words will freely flow, Our lips break forth in praise, When peace, and love, and endless rest Crown evermore our days.

THE SABBATH A HOLY DAY.

The following from D. S. McCaslin, a minister of the Presbyterian church of Muncie, Ind., sets forth principles in relation to the Sabbath which are in exact agreement with the teaching of the Bible. They apply to the true Sabbath, and, if admitted, hold a person inevitably to the immutability and perpetuity of the seventh day. The fact that Mr. M., in making these statements, was arguing in behalf of Sunday, does by no means destroy their value, as coming from a Presbyterian source, in behalf of the true Sabbath. The article is copied from a recent issue of the Muncie Times:—
TEXT: “The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.” Mark 2:27.
This saying of Jesus has been abused and perverted by the enemies of the Sabbath, who interpret Scripture with reference to their wishes, and not according to the will of God. It does not mean that God’s holy day may be subjected to any use the whims of human nature may suggest. It teaches that the Sabbath is a permanent institution of God, established for the benefit of mankind. The Sabbath, like the church itself, is made for man, and not man for the church. The laws of the State are for the citizens, and not the citizens for the State. This only makes the laws more sacred and authoritative. So in the law of the Sabbath, it is made for man, and is all the more sacred on that account, and is by this fact placed beyond any human alterations of its authority.
That authority cannot be lessened or impeached. The law of the Sabbath is not ceremonial or Levitical, but it is ethical and spiritual. Every ethical law, from its very nature, is perpetual and universal. The sanctity of the Sabbath does not begin with Moses. It originates with the family and religion itself. Hence its incorporation in the decalogue as moral legislation. Every other statute of the ten inscribed upon tables of stone was ethical in character. Is it probable that the fourth commandment, standing in the very midst of the law, will be an exception in its character? Under such circumstances, can we believe that nine statutes are ethical, and this solitary one ceremonial? All the rest perpetual and universal, and this one temporary and local? The decalogue, as moral legislation, was meant for all mankind, and the law of the Sabbath is a part of that moral law; hence man is just as much morally bound to keep the fourth commandment as he is the third or the sixth. “Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy,” is just as authoritative as “Thou shalt not steal.” Hence, Sabbath desecration is just as immoral as stealing! It will not evade the force of this conclusion to say, We are in the Christian dispensation, and not under the Mosaic. The law of the Sabbath has never been repealed. Grace leaves all moral laws in force. Fulfillment of a type does not imply the abrogation of any ethical law. The New Testament has no decalogue, and this fact indicates that that of Moses is still in force. The “sermon on the mount” sets nothing aside. Christ simply shows his hearers in what resides the authority of the Mosaic law. That authority is in its spirit. That spirit is the moral element. The Saviour therefore insists upon the sanctity of the Sabbath. “For the Son of man is Lord also of the Sabbath.” It is God’s day; it is his day. It is, therefore, from its very nature and purpose, a holy day. It must be used for sacred and devotional purposes, as nothing else will harmonize with its sanctity and God’s intentions. It is God’s day, and employing it for other purposes is robbing God. The Sabbath bears the highest marks of sacredness. We are told that this “day of rest” is “Holiness to the Lord.” This sentence is the very legend that was inscribed upon the mitre of the high priest! It is regarded as sacred as the priesthood itself. Who, then, shall profane its sanctity and escape the displeasure of the God of the Sabbath?
The holiness of this sacred day is enhanced by the blessings it brings to the church and the world. Its maintenance as a holy day is necessary to the existence of the church and its continued prosperity. “No Sabbath” means “no church.” This gives the true significance of the uniform opposition of infidels and communists to the right observance of the Sabbath. If the Sabbath can be overthrown, or changed to a national holiday, then the church cannot maintain her divinely appointed institutions; much less can she promote religious thought and Bible study.
Infidels understand this Sabbath question as being a strategic point between faith and doubt, and all wide-awake Christians, appreciating the Sabbath as a necessary divine institution, will recognize their purpose, and meet the issue squarely, and affirm, in the name of God and religion, that the Sabbath is a holy day and not a holiday.

WHAT ROMANISM IS DOING.

By William Penniman

BY WILLIAM PENNIMAN.
A few years ago, when the Roman Catholic Ecumenical Council was in session, I was conversing with a man who was engaged in lecturing upon prophetic questions, and on asking him what he thought of the doings of the council, he replied, “They are trying to raise —.” This is the substance of the matter in a nutshell. Even Cardinal Manning says, “The Catholic Church is either the master-piece of Satan, or the kingdom of the Son of God.” Baxter says, “If the pope be not Antichrist, he has bad luck to be so like him.” Many agencies are at work in the world, and many of them, in the providence of God, are working out the fulfillment of the prophecies. Romanism, or the “man of sin,” is one of these agencies. There are certain evils in the world which cannot be entirely subverted, yet they can and will be held in check, till God accomplishes his great designs.
Last week we gave some facts in regard to the number of Catholic schools and pupils. We will now compare the Roman Catholic with the public schools.
John Fay, in the International Review of March, 1880, has made a comparison from which it appears that to every 10,000 inhabitants where the people are educated in Roman Catholic schools, there are 1,400 illiterate persons, 40 paupers, and 160 criminals; while in twenty-one States where the people are educated in the public schools, the proportion is, 350 illiterates, 170 paupers, and 75 criminals. In Massachusetts, among those educated in the public schools, the proportion is 71 illiterate persons, 49 paupers, and 11 criminals. He showed, also, that in the State of New York, the Roman Catholic school system turned out three and one-half times as many paupers as the public school system. He further says:—
“To an American, who has watched the progress of Roman Catholics in America, and their plans as recently developed, the idea of the Jesuits confronting the Republic as it enters its second century, with an intention that they are about to control it, will seem strange as he recalls the eventful history of that order, which has won, in turn, the detestation of all nations and the condemnation of the church of Rome. To-day the revised order appears to be at the head of the church of Rome. The dogma of infallibility is pronounced the legal result of its existence. Dr. Manning represents the Jesuits as leading the mission to England to subdue the will of the imperial race. In America we are told that they have captured our great cities; that by their agents they manipulate the press, and secure its silence; that they have revised for the American Encyclopedia a part of their history; that they have driven the Bible from the public schools, arranged the terms with party leaders, secured grants of lands and money, and annual subsidies in the shape of charities; that they have begun to assert the supremacy of the church over the State, and are preparing for greater triumphs. That there is to be a struggle, and a hard one, for the control in our Republic, between the people constituting the State, and the ecclesiastics who represent the Roman church, no rational man who understands the situation can for a moment doubt. In the light of history and reason, it seems equally clear, either that the struggle is now to be decided by maintaining against the opposition the supremacy of the State in its right of education, intellectual and moral, in its administration of justice, in the safety of elections from priestly control, and in every other legitimate exercise of sovereignty; or that if these be yielded through treachery or indifference, the struggle will be transferred to the battle field, and decided in that most terrible of conflicts, a religious war.”
Some of the doctrines of Romanism will show how this power may affect the civil and religious liberty of our country. The pope of Rome claims infallibility. This doctrine was fully established and proclaimed to the world at the Ecumenical Council of 1870; and to claim infallibility for the pope, is to claim that he cannot err in doctrine. By virtue of his universal spiritual supremacy, he claims to be a universal temporal sovereign. (Dens. and Gregory VII.) Bishops, priests, cardinals, Jesuits, and laymen are bound by solemn oaths to obey the pope of Rome. (See their oaths.) The pope has power to take away the obligation of an oath, and to absolve subjects from allegiance to a sovereign or government. (St. Thomas and Dens.) Should the pope curse the government of the United States, or declare war against it, Romanists would be absolved from their oaths, and compelled to take the side of the pope against the government. (St. Thomas, vol. 4, pp. 91–94; Golden Manual, p. 771.)
Already there are secret Roman Catholic military organizations in our country; and their object is to destroy our great Republic, and with it civil and religious liberty. Jesuits are the sworn enemies of freedom. They are the secret agents of the pope. Conscience to them is a word without meaning, and an oath cannot bind them. This order, on account of their corruption and treason, have been expelled from most countries where they have had a foothold. Now they are to be expelled from France, under the laws of the first empire, passed in 1804.
It is evident that the power of the Roman hierarchy, aided by Jesuit influence, is rapidly increasing in the United States. In politics they are a unit, and their influence in elections will be very strong. As the power of the Jesuits is diminishing in Europe, it will, no doubt, increase the more rapidly in our country. During the past thirty years they have been secretly extending the power and influence of Vaticanism in every European country; but despairing of accomplishing their objects in Europe, they are working with undiminished zeal to place, under Protestant institutions, a torpedo which shall entirely overthrow them.

THE DEAD-PRAYER OFFICE.

What becomes of all the unanswered letters? Thousands of them find their way to the dead-letter office. Some never reach the one for whom they were intended because the postage is not paid; some fail because they are directed to the wrong office; some cannot be sent because the address is illegible; and some because the matter inclosed is unmailable. These float through the mails, are examined at different offices, marked “missent,” and finally they fall into the dead-letter office. There they are opened and read, and if valuable, are forwarded, if not, they are given to the flames. Such is the accuracy and skill of the postal officials that very few valuable letters ever fail of reaching their destination.
Some prayers never reach God because they are not addressed to God’s office. They are directed to the audience. Here one prays a “sharp cut” to some stubborn brother, or rebukes some error in theology to another, or drives some keen-edged blade of censure into another, directs a severe criticism to some who are running into fashionable follies, and sometimes (shame on us) the very supplication which we offer in tenderest tones, in behalf of the weeping widow and helpless orphans, is intended more for those who kneel in mourning before us than for God who sits in glory above us. God’s office is not in our neighbor’s ear, and if we direct our prayers to that point, they will certainly go to the “dead-prayer office.”
Again, there is a prayer upon which the address is illegible, not because it is a rough, scrawling “hand-write,”—these can always be deciphered,—but because it has so many extra flourishes. This prayer is uttered in a pompous, grandiloquent style. It is full of long words, scientific terms, and classical quotations. The writing on the envelope is very much in keeping with the style upon the inside. The ink was fancy, and it soon faded; the pen was the tongue, and it did not set the color in the prayer. How different when indited by the heart! It is no wonder that this prayer gets lost, and finds its way into the “dead-prayer office.”
The last prayer we notice is the unavailable prayer. There is a great latitude allowed us in the postal matter of our government, but there are a few things which cannot even get into the mail-bags. Sharp-edged tools and corroding acids, no matter how securely wrapped, will not be transported through the mails; these are put in a separate box and sent to the “dead-letter office,” or they are captured by the first postmaster that handles them. Many of our prayers, if answered, might be blessings to us, but they would fall like a shower of daggers upon our neighbors. Sometimes in our prayers we half-way complain of the strange providence which has befallen us, and argue the case with God; then the prayer is full of sharp-pointed arrows. Is it at all strange that kind answers are not returned? The corroding acid of selfishness or sensuality or pride is sometimes in our prayer. Such a prayer is lost on the way. It is poured out in mid-air. It is never answered, and well for us that it is not.
No legally “stamped,” sincerely directed, and well-meaning prayer is ever lost. The answer may be delayed, but the prayer is “on file.”—Selected.

HIGH-TONED RELIGION.

By J. H. W.

“Rev. J. Hyatt Smith,” who is (at least nominally) a Baptist minister, speaking of the ordinances of the church, says:—
“I can imagine a man so high in God’s grace that for him to eat and drink of the bread and wine would let him down. He is partaking of spiritual bread and wine. All members of the church are not so high, and the material supper is most convenient for them.”
That is to say, that some Christians are so low in God’s grace that it is most fitting for them to do as Christ commands, while some have outgrown that condition!
We have often met this self-conceited religion, in various organizations. A Baptist minister once informed us that he preached a sermon so spiritual that scarcely a person in the congregation could understand him. A person of the old-fashioned Oberlin school, when driven from the usual defenses of Sunday, asked us, “What difference does it make whether I keep a Sabbath or not, if I am only sanctified?” A preacher of the United Brethren order, when nonplused on the same subject, replied that he did not depend on the Bible to learn his duty. He got his information in his own heart in answer to prayer. Another person of the same order said that he knew that he was pleasing God in the use of tobacco; for the Lord sanctified him while he was using it, which he would not have done, if the habit were wrong! We could multiply instances of this sort, but it is not necessary.
The drift of the religious world is in that direction; the tendency is to a religion resting on feeling and “experience,” instead of the word of God. We believe in an experience which is formed on, and in harmony with, God’s word, but not one which is substituted for the word. We believe in sanctification through the truth (God’s word is truth, John 17 : 17), but not in a sanctification which ignores the truth of God.
But all these notions are the outgrowth of the spiritualizing theory invented by Origen, and just now fanned into popularity by a Satanic breeze of spirit influences. Many pulpits of the land are sowing the seed; modern spiritualism gathers in the harvest. Opposition to the doctrine of the personal and visible return of the Lord—a growing contempt of the second advent of the Saviour—is drawing thousands into spiritualizing notions on this subject; and then to spiritualize or mystify all the Scriptures becomes a necessity for consistency’s sake.
“To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.” Isa. 8 : 20. J. H. W.

“BURY IT WITH ME.”

By Lucia M. Swan

BY LUCIA M. SWAN.
Enter with me a spacious apartment where everything that wealth can buy or affection suggest is displayed. Amid this array of splendor lies a manly form, and upon his high, noble brow the death-damp is gathering. Around him stand his friends, assembled to bid the last, long farewell to him who has been their pride and joy. The unwilling victim is struggling hard to free himself from the grasp of his unseen enemy; but as he finds that the struggle is vain, from the depths of his overburdened heart comes the wild request, “Gather up my influence, and bury it with me!” Had he asked anything that money could buy, how quickly would it have been granted by that indulgent father; but alas! it is beyond the power of friends to grant this request; for notwithstanding all his dying agonies, that lamented influence will continue to work long after its author is still in death. Could he have realized when he dropped that seed of infidelity into some youthful heart, or when he led that companion into temptation, that of this seed so carelessly sown, he must one day eat the bitter fruit, he need not thus wildly repent a misspent life. But it is now too late; life is fast ebbing away, and his life-record must forever remain unchanged.
Nor does the full extent of influence end here. After the sower has gone to the silent home of the dead, the seed that he has sown will take root and grow, and after-generations may eat of its fruit. Take, for example, the great reformer. In the midst of that night of total darkness, he shone forth as a guiding star, to lead the victims of papal superstition to the marvelous light of the gospel. And that dim light, which arose in obscurity, has increased and brightened, until thousands have blessed the name and memory of Martin Luther. But there was another whose influence was no less felt. This was Louisa of Savoy, mother of Francis the First, king of France. The faint glimmerings of the Reformation were stealing their way to many a royal heart, and among those who were receiving the precious truth was her daughter Margaret. It needed only the favor of Louisa to make the Reformation a success in France, and for awhile this was granted. But soon, worldly policy making it expedient for her to oppose it, she brought all her queenly powers to bear against it. She introduced the Inquisition, and at her command Christian blood flowed freely; and thousands remained in darkness who might, but for her influence, have been rejoicing in the truth. Never, until she hears her sentence at the bar of God, can she fully realize the fearful extent of her influence.
We do not occupy the responsible position of king of France, nor is it our mission to reform the world. No; but in our quiet, humble sphere, we may secure proportionally great results. The small drops of rain are just as useful in their place as the mighty river, nor are they any more to be disregarded because that sphere is humble. Our influence, however small, may be the prolific instrument to scatter pestilence, darkness, and distress, all around our pathway, or the means of bringing to life new beauty and happiness. We may, by a gentle word or look, lighten an overburdened heart, or dry a falling tear. We may smooth life's rugged pathway for weary, bleeding feet, and point some trembling heart to the rest “over there.” Or by a harsh, unfriendly word, we may inflict a new wound on a heart already torn and bleeding. Could we but know how many aching hearts, even around our path in life, are longing for sympathy and love, could we but realize how many seemingly careless ones are wishing for some kind hand to point them Heavenward, could we but see how many may perish for the “want of a word” which we might have spoken, how carefully would we walk life's devious paths, with what watchfulness would we guard our words and actions, lest, when called to leave this life, we should wildly pray, but pray in vain, “Gather up my influence, and bury it with me!”

One Day

By Ira E. Sherman

Another day—one day; And that is all; A gift from Heaven sent down; Men deem it small. The great sun rose, to bring another day; Earth traveled far, and in no idle way, That man might have, of life, another day. All worlds, all suns, all spheres, All seasons, months, and years Bring tribute, as to kings Are brought rich offerings The wealth of ages—story, precept, rhyme— Are gifts of thee, thou latest son of Time.
It comes for good—one day— For highest good; And for it man should pay Real gratitude. Days do not last; and this day, crowned the best, Full soon will fade and softly sink to rest In the rich chambers of the glowing west; And all the wealth it brings Is yours and mine. Proud kings Would lay their crowns in dust, And let them idly rust, If, when once past, the sacrifice would bring One misspent day for one unhappy king.
It bringeth food—one day— And houses, lands. It giveth eyes to see, And willing hands, And ears to hear, and friends, and loving words, And sun and shade, and flocks and lowing herds, And fruits and flowers, and song of many birds; It lights up all the hills, And deepest valleys fills With life, and light, and air. It sends good everywhere. It lifts the ocean, with a loving hand, And drops its waters on the thirsty land.
It opens doors—one day— Doors swinging wide As human life can reach, Or human pride Can well desire. The realm of Thought is there, A mighty kingdom, stretching wide and far Beyond the light of moon, or sun, or star. It opens this to thee, Not as a mystery; But something real, and fair As costly temples are, Built by great masters, with a faith sublime That Art, like Thought, outlasts the touch of Time.
It giveth wings—one day— Wings for the soul To speed its flight-away From pole to pole; To girdle earth, and still unwearied rise To greater heights, in clearer, fairer skies, Until are seen the gates of Paradise. Most holy, holy day! Bow down, O Soul, and pray, The spot where thou dost stand Is hallowed, and God's hand Alone can guide thee through a single day. Bow down, O Soul, and for this guidance pray.
—Ira E. Sherman, in Independent.
Continue reading: CHRIST'S CRITERION